


More Than This

by vulpesarctica



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Disguise, Drama, Eventual Happy Ending, False Identity (sort of), Gratuitous Flirt Obi-Wan, Humour, M/M, Movie Star Anakin, NSFW, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Romance, Sex, Writer Obi-Wan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-02-03 23:37:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12758580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulpesarctica/pseuds/vulpesarctica
Summary: Anakin is a Hollywood megastar who is sick and tired of LA. Ben is a successful writer running from his past, hiding his hurt behind the lifestyle of a perpetual bachelor. Their paths cross in Paris one summer.





	1. I Ran

**Author's Note:**

> Trying something a little more challenging with this one! Hope you guys enjoy, please let me know what you think! <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _and i ran, i ran so far away_   
>  _i just ran, i ran all night and day_

"Well, the good news is he's not pressing charges." 

Anakin raised his eyebrows and gave a scornful snort. “You are kidding, right? _We’re_ the ones that should be pressing charges!” He shifted in the uncomfortable leather chair that was facing his agent’s desk.

Aayla gave him a hard stare. "Anakin. You know very well that Ahsoka didn’t want to, and plus, you broke his nose and cracked two of his ribs."

"He _broke_ _into_ her house to try and get photos of her! He got off pretty fucking lightly if you ask me!" There was more aggression in his voice than he had intended to direct towards her, but his recollection of the events of the day before yesterday filled him with fury.

She sighed. "Well, yes, but... be that as it may, it’s not up to you to decide his punishment. That’s why we have a legal system.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and slouched further down in his seat. "Whatever Aayla, he got what was coming to him, and you  _know_  it. Ahsoka is barely 19! That fucking perv got what he  _deserved_. I can’t fucking believe he’s not in jail right now.”

"You do realise that would have been much more likely to have happened had you not beaten the shit out of him?"

He scoffed, a decent response evading him, and looked away. When he eventually looked back, Aayla's brown eyes were giving him an imploring stare. “Anakin, you know what the paparazzi can be like –”

"I know exactly what they're like," he interrupted, crossing his arms angrily. "They're poisonous, greedy scumbags and the world would be a much better place if we didn't put up with their bullshit."

Aayla sighed again, rubbing her temples, and closed her eyes. After a moment, she reopened them, and looked at him soberly. "Anakin... look, I know you were trying to protect your friend. And personally, I think she's lucky you were there… she must have been terrified.” She paused and steepled her fingers together in front of her before she continued. “…but, professionally?... Well, this isn't exactly your first violent encounter with the paparazzi. Remember March? Or last October?"

Anakin shrugged, slightly uncomfortable as he thought about what Aayla might be getting at. He looked away with a scowl as he responded. "So? They started it, both times. I just finished it. They're fucking vultures, and I hate them." 

“Anakin, it’s not just that. You’re… you’re starting to get a bit of a reputation in the industry.”

He gave her a withering stare. “A reputation for _what?_ ”

“For being… difficult to work with. You’re aggressive, you don’t respond well to criticism and you try and solve too many of your problems with intimidation. If I’m being totally honest… look, if you weren’t such a good actor, you’d be damn near unhireable by now.”

Taken aback, he gawped at her. _Seriously? Is… is that what people think of me? Aayla can be a pain, but she’s never bullshitted me…_ “Wow, ok… um… shit. Can’t say I was expecting that… well, ok, so what do we do?”

" _You_ are going to play nothing but nice for at least the next 6 months. No fights, no aggression, no _nothing._ I don’t want to scare you, but… I’m worried the studio is starting to get a little pissed... it’s just, well - there may have been whispers about finding a different lead for the fourth movie."

Anakin's eyes widened in alarm. "What?! They can't replace me, not three films in! The audiences would never go for it. I'm the best thing about that goddamn franchise!" 

"It’s only whispers, at the moment, but… I'm just saying. Another... incident... like this would  _not_ be a good idea for you, if you want to keep that job. And I know you're smart enough to realise that recurring lead roles in multimillion-dollar superhero franchises  _don't_  tend to come around twice in a career." 

She held his gaze sternly with one raised eyebrow until he wavered and looked away. 

He made a noise of angry exasperation and stood up from his chair abruptly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Aayla’s office was on the tenth-floor of a tall building in Downtown LA that seemed to be made entirely of glass. Squinting out of her office window into the blinding Los Angeles sunshine, he huffed and muttered, "I'm so sick of this fucking town." 

"This town is necessary for you to be a millionaire." Aayla said shortly. 

He spun back around to face her. "So I should put up with fucking shitty people invading my life, my  _friends’ homes_ , to exploit us? I should tolerate asshole producers on film sets who know fucking nothing but have an opinion on everything, who treat me like some kind of performing monkey?!”

"Anakin..." Aayla said, her tone severe.

“You know why I’m so _aggressive_ , Aayla? Pretty much everyone in this goddamn city is just out for themselves, they’re only interested in what they can get from you. People say Vegas is a monument to greed, but I think we’ve got a pretty strong fucking contender here.”

She made to interrupt, but he was on a roll. “The reason I’m so fucking aggressive is so people will learn that I’m not gonna take their shit. I wouldn’t take it at 20, when creep after fucking creep waved their filthy money at me, hoping I wanted to be famous so bad I’d do just about anything with them, and I sure as shit won’t take it now, when these dickheads think I give more of a fuck about their piece of shit movie than my own goddamn _dignity_!”

Aayla was quiet.

"And as for the fucking _paparazzi…_ ” he continued, the volume of his voice growing ever louder. “I'm fucking sick of them, Aayla, and I don't see why I should have to play nice when these  _scumbags_  just keep getting away with making me feel like an animal in a zoo. I’m a person, and I have a right to privacy! I can't go for a fucking piss in this town without some asshole trying to get a picture of it! It's fucking inhumane that… _this_ … should be the price of just… just trying to make a living out of something I enjoy." Finally running out of steam, he turned away and scowled out into the summer haze.

"You're doing a little bit more than just making a living," Aayla said dryly after a long moment, reigniting his anger. 

"Oh, don't you dare fucking twist my words like that, Aayla. You know I don't give a shit about the money,” he spat over his shoulder. He paused, and then continued while staring out at the skyline. “Yeah, sure, I might live in a nice house and have nice things… but you know the last time I was really happy? The last time I was really happy, I was waiting tables at some fancy restaurant in Brentwood, sharing a shitty house in Venice with four other people and scraping by on bit parts in TV shows. Plus, the goddamn tabloids have ruined every relationship I’ve had in the last five years before they even began. It’s  _bullshit_. All the fucking money in the world..." He trailed off, leaning forward and thumping his balled fists against the glass in frustration. He didn’t remember clenching them.

“…all the fucking money in the world, what? _”_ Aayla’s voice from behind him was calm, but he could sense the challenge lying underneath. She had never tolerated physical aggression from him in her presence, and he knew she wasn’t about to start now.

 _All the fucking money in the world doesn’t mean shit to me if I have to be alone to have it,_ he thought, but didn’t say. He sighed, and stayed silent.

“I take it you’re finished.”

His shoulders slumped, and he returned to the chair in front of Aayla’s desk, sinking heavily back into it as he rubbed at one eye with the heel of his hand. Pushing his sun-blond hair out of his face, he reluctantly returned his gaze to hers. She looked at him expectantly, her expression stony.

“I’m sorry for… I’m sorry. That was a real dick move. It’s not your fault this industry is the way it is. I just get so angry, Aayla…”

“I know. And your frustrations are _more_ than valid - trust me, Anakin, I _know_. But… this temper of yours... you have _got_ to get it under control.”

“I know. Sorry. …What do I have to do?” he finally said, flatly.

“Nothing.”

“What –“

“Literally,  _nothing_. Keep your head down, stay out of trouble, don’t fucking… _punch_   _anyone_. You just need to be low-profile and do literally _nothing_ that a tabloid rag would even want to so much as tweet about for the next few months, so I can get some good PR going for you.” She sighed, and he noticed her dark, expressive eyes soften a little. “Look, Anakin… despite your flaws, I really do like having you as my client. You’re a really,  _really_ talented actor and I know you have what it takes to go as far as you want in this industry, but you  _have_ to toe the line. I know you hate it – I  _know_  it can be bullshit. This entire city is  _built_  on bullshit!... But beating the shit out of your problems isn’t the answer. It will only cause more grief for you in the long run.”

He was quiet. He knew deep down there was truth to Aayla’s words, but every time he thought about that photographer breaking into Ahsoka’s house, it felt like a blinding red mist was descending upon him.

“It just… it makes me feel so weak, Aayla. I want to protect my friends, I want to keep  _scum_  like that away from me and the people I care about – I want my life to belong to me. But… it feels like everyone just wants me to accept it as the… I don’t know, the price of _fame_ , or whatever.”

Aayla gave him a weak smile. “You don’t have to accept it. You just can’t… fight your problems, all the time. I can look into how we can achieve some more privacy for you, make some amendments to your contracts about what is and isn’t acceptable, _maybe_ arrange some restraining orders for any 'repeat offenders', so to speak, but please, Anakin, I’m begging you… no more violence. I’m not about to let you throw everything you’ve worked so hard for away. Alright?”

“…Alright.”

 

* * *

 

“Shit, shit!” Ben hissed, only just escaping the métro doors before they slammed shut in their usual ruthless fashion. A little bit too much red wine and the book he was currently reading had conspired together to nearly make him miss his stop. He gave silent thanks that it was summer and he wasn’t wearing his long winter coat, or it might have been much less of a clean exit. He regrouped, and started towards the end of the platform. He wound through the labyrinthine passages of the station, the alcohol creating a pleasant softness in his head that abruptly evaporated once he rounded the corner to see that the elevators were out of service. He swore again, sighed, and headed for the steps that spiralled up towards street level.

Five minutes later, he emerged into the balmy June evening, sweat soaking through his light blue shirt, panting and cursing himself for choosing to live in an apartment near the deepest station in the Paris Métro system. As if in further protest his stomach growled, and he glanced down at his watch, finding it was a little before midnight.  _Thank fuck for that at least,_ he thought, and cast a glance up and down the Rue des Abbesses for rogue moped drivers before making a beeline for the brasserie on the corner a little further up the street.

Quinlan, his bartender friend who was currently carrying a tray of drinks to an outside table, saw him coming. “The handsome devil himself! And to what do we owe the honour of your exalted presence?” he exclaimed loudly as he deposited the drinks in front of two bemused tourists, drawing stares from them and the other diners.

Ben rolled his eyes as he approached. “Shut up and feed me.”

Not to be deterred, Quinlan lunged forward to draw Ben into an overly familiar hug purposely designed to make him feel uncomfortable in front of their impromptu audience. Ben shoved him off and Quinlan wrinkled his nose, his light brown eyes twinkling.

“You smell like booze…,” Quinlan smirked, and continued more quietly and conspiratorially, “…And  _sex_. What have you been up to, Kenobi?”

“Nothing in particular.” Ben let a small smile curl at the corner of his mouth.

“Is that so? And did ‘nothing in particular’ have a name?” Quinlan raised an eyebrow at him, and began to retreat towards the bar with his empty tray.

“Feed me, and perhaps I’ll tell you.”

“Isn’t it a little  _early_  for you to be coming home already? A little…  _premature,_  perhaps?” Quinlan asked with feigned innocence as Ben perched himself on a barstool, tugging the folded paperback out of his back pocket and dropping it unceremoniously onto the bar.

“I can assure you, Quinlan, that there is absolutely nothing  _premature_  about me whatsoever,” Ben smirked in response.

Quinlan rolled his eyes, and then noticed the book. He cackled and prodded at it gleefully with one finger. “You took  _reading material_  to your hook-up?!”

“Mental exertion is just as important as the physical kind, Quin. Now feed me, will you, I’m  _starving._ ”

“Ugh, alright,  _alright._ You’re like a stray dog that keeps coming back for scraps. Hold on.” Quinlan ducked into the kitchen behind the bar and said something to the chef that Ben couldn't make out. When he returned, he was shaking his head at Ben with a smug smile.

"What's that look for?"

Quinlan smirked. "It just occurred to me... that's a new level of detached even for you."

It was Ben's turn to roll his eyes. "Oh, come off it, Quin. Look, if you must know, I was meeting a bookseller friend of mine for drinks in the fifth arrondissement to discuss a signing I'm doing at his shop. He had to run off unexpectedly, but there was a nice young man behind the bar who seemed very keen to make sure I wasn't lonely."

"If that's the case, then why are you back before midnight?" Quinlan asked interrogatively.

"He had to get back to his shift."

"You did it  _at the bar?!"_

"Well, in the store room.” Ben laughed at the look on his friend’s face. “Oh, don't act all scandalised with me, Quin - you've done far worse in your time. I know, because you report back to me every time to brag!"

Quinlan conceded, his look of mock-outrage morphing into a sly grin. "Well, how else am I going to make sure you know what you're missing?" 

The chef interrupted by leaning out of the kitchen doorway and idly waggling a basket of fries in their direction. Quinlan retrieved them and brought them back to Ben, who nodded his thanks to the chef then doused them in salt and vinegar and began to gratefully devour them. Through a mouthful, he replied, "I've told you before Quin - I don't shag where I eat."

The dark-skinned man gave him a pretend look of disgust and said, "Nevermind, I've suddenly mysteriously lost my attraction to you. Anyway, you're old news to me now - I've fallen in love with a beautiful chef I met the other day."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "How will I ever recover?" he deadpanned, sucking salt off his fingers. "Tell me more, then." 

"She's brunette and stunning and she works in a restaurant over on the Rue Garreau."

"She sounds... out of your league," Ben teased, and then ducked as Quinlan flicked stale beer at him from the drip tray on the bar. "So, how did you meet this incredible beauty?"

"Well... we haven't officially met yet. I saw her through the window of her restaurant."

"Ah, love at first stalk."

"I am  _not_ stalking her! I'm just... figuring out how to make my move."

"How... predatory," Ben mused, shovelling the last of the fries into his mouth. "Well, do be sure to let me know how that works out for you. In the meantime, I think I'm going to retire to bed."

"You must be getting old, Kenobi," Quinlan teased. 

"Not  _old,_ thank you very much. Just mildly drunk, and excessively sated. Add those to my tab, will you?" Ben pushed himself up from the stool and returned the paperback to his pocket. 

"Ah yes, the elusive Kenobi bar tab. Any thoughts on when you might want to, you know, pay it?"

"When you ask me nicely. Bye, Quin! Thanks for the food!" He grinned and turned to leave.

"For a man on the wrong side of 35, you are infuriatingly immature when it comes to money!" Quinlan called after him. 

"Now, that wasn't very nice, was it?” Ben shot back over his shoulder and gave a cheerful wave. He smiled to himself and crossed the road in the direction of Rue Ravignan. As he fumbled in his pocket for his keys, all he could think about was falling into bed. 

 

* * *

 

Anakin had always known he was impulsive, but he had to admit that this might be a new level of rashness, even for him. As he made himself comfortable in the first class seat of the flight that was currently transporting him overnight to Paris, France, like some kind of express parcel, he cast his mind back over the events that had somehow led up to this. 

After leaving Aayla’s office, he had felt less angry and more resigned, but no less frustrated about the current circumstances of his life. He didn't regret his participation in the ridiculously successful superhero franchise that had brought him his fame, even if the short beard each film required him to maintain did make his face itch, and he liked his castmates a lot, but the intrusion of the media into his life seemed to have kicked up several notches somewhere between the second and third films. He had enough bullshit to deal with on most of the sets he worked on – marketing teams endlessly trying to get him to plug stuff, producers having a million shitty ideas that they wanted to shoehorn into previously decent movies, and casting agents not taking him seriously because he had the face of ‘a movie star’, but not ‘a serious actor’. Having the Hollywood nonsense spill over into his private life as well was more than he was willing to tolerate.

He just couldn't rationalise why it had to be this way. He understood the necessity of press tours and premieres, the endless primetime interviews and magazine features when he had a film to promote; but wasn't he allowed to have a private life when that wasn't the case? Why was there even a market for candid photographs of him buying a coffee, going for a walk, eating dinner with a friend?! It was enough to turn anyone into a recluse. 

In the midst of his wondering, he had decided to pick up some coffees to take round to Ahsoka's place. There were no paparazzi in sight as he entered, although he noticed the cellphones of several tourists pointed unsubtly in his direction. Infuriatingly, in the short time it took him to order and collect his drinks, a gaggle of photographers had materialised outside the coffee shop doors. He had wondered angrily if there was some sort of citywide alert that people sent out when they spotted a celebrity, so the paparazzi knew to swarm like the insects he considered them to be. However, remembering Aayla's plea, he very dutifully kept his head down as he exited with drinks in hand, wasn't violent or aggressive, and very politely and calmly (he thought) asked them all to go fuck themselves. 

When he had arrived at Ahsoka's, he had been hoping to discuss his conversation with Aayla and to ask her again if she was totally sure she didn't want to press charges against the photographer that had broken into her house. However, when she had buzzed him in he had quickly realised that she was still shaken up, and it wasn't the right time.

_“Sorry, Skyguy… my head’s a little spacy at the moment.”_

_“Say no more, Snips – I know the perfect cure for that.”_

To try and take her mind off things, he had made them some popcorn and sat her down to watch the film they had first met on - a comedy horror about a summer camp where the campers turn the tables on the killer stalking them. He had played a camp counsellor, and she had been one of the teen campers. They had both cringed with laughter watching their younger selves in action.

After he left several hours later, he felt less immediate concern about Ahsoka, but the lingering feeling of being exhausted by LA had remained. It was his text to Padmé seeking advice, he reflected now, that had probably cemented his seat on this particular flight. Padmé was his one-time girlfriend and long-time friend. They had dated for a while when he had first moved to LA, but ultimately the life of a ‘celebrity girlfriend’ had not been one she was interested in.

Despite her job as a _chef de cuisine_ taking her to Paris two years previously, their bond had remained strong, and he was continually grateful for her calming presence in his life. At least, that he was the only way he was currently able to rationalise having so calmly decided to pay her a surprise visit, booked himself a flight that same evening, and packed a bag in the space of about half an hour.

 _At least I had the foresight to shave,_ he thought to himself idly. He was intending on keeping a low profile while he was in Paris, and had made the last-minute decision before he left for the airport to get rid of the beard that he had worn for the better part of five years. He had also grabbed a pair of black-rimmed fake glasses he’d kept from an old role, and a grey baseball cap in an attempt to create a passable disguise. Taking off his beard made him look younger, so he hoped the final look was at least more ‘plausible college student’ than it was ‘errant movie star trying to avoid detection’.

He settled into his seat a little more, and tugged the blanket the steward had brought him earlier further up over himself. It was going to be a long flight.

 

* * *

 

Ben managed just under two hours of lying in bed, staring up at his ceiling, before he gave up and went to the window for a cigarette. His insomnia was starting to become a problem again, although he should have expected it given the time of year.

He had also been mulling over what Quinlan had said to him earlier at the brasserie. _A new level of detached… that’s how he described me. Am I detached?_ Ben tried to be somewhat objective as he exhaled smoke into the humid Parisian night. _There’s nothing wrong with just wanting to have a bit of fun. Although, I suppose I have been ‘having a bit of fun’ for the last 5 years now…_ he took another draw from his cigarette, turning his head to look down the street at the excellent view of the city he was afforded by his fifth-floor apartment. Every time he saw it, he was reminded how glad he was that Montmartre was on a hill, even if he had cursed that same hill on more than one drunken walk home. His street, the Rue Ravignan, pointed south-east further into Paris; more or less directly towards the western end of the Jardin des Tuileries and then the Pont de la Concorde across the river, if you walked far enough in a straight line.

The sight of the city at night, especially in summer, filled him with the same romance it always had, and strengthened his resolve. _I’m surely fucked if I start paying any attention to what Quinlan Vos says about me. It’s not like I promised that bartender a marriage proposal; he was just as satisfied as I was for it to be spontaneous._ He eked out one last drag from the cigarette, and then leant down to stub it out in the plant pot on his windowsill that he used as an ashtray. _Wrong side of 35, indeed. I’m only 37, that’s not even anywhere near middle-age. Plus I’m probably in the best shape of my bloody life._ Ben swam regularly, and tried to get to the gym for a workout at least twice a week.

He took one last look over the vista in front of him. _Anyway, I’m living in Paris and I’m enjoying myself. That’s what you’re meant to do here, isn’t it? I think I’ve earned the right, considering…_ he forced himself to stop mid-thought, and shook his head. _Leave well alone, Ben. If you can’t sleep, you might as well be productive and get a head start on the day’s writing._

Leaving his window open to let the warm night air waft through his home, he sat down at his desk and opened his laptop. Giving one last thought to his inner monologue regarding Quinlan’s unhelpful comments before he began, he decided that he was quite content with how his life currently operated, and absolutely nothing was going to change that any time soon.


	2. The Boys Of Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _a little voice inside my head said:_  
>  "don't look back, you can never look back."

Ben awoke to bright sunlight washing over him where he had fallen asleep on his sofa. He couldn’t remember moving from his desk to his current position, and wondered idly what time it was. His closed laptop was on the floor beside him, and there was an uncomfortable stiffness in his neck.

He groaned, and fished it up onto his lap, flipping it open with a yawn.  _Let’s see how far I got, then._ He raised his eyebrows as he saw the surprisingly substantial contents of the open document on his screen.  _Well, that’s a pleasant surprise._   _Looks like I've actually earned my breakfast today._

Twenty minutes and a refreshing shower later, he left his building and headed towards the restaurant at the top of his street, wearing sunglasses to shield him from the late morning sun and to alleviate the worst of his mild hangover. He took a seat at one of the tables arranged on the cobblestoned pavement outside.

A few minutes later, he was absorbed in the next chapter of his paperback when he heard a warm female voice speaking to him.

"Ah, Montmartre's own star novelist."

Ben looked up, peering over his sunglasses. "Debatable, but I appreciate the compliment nonetheless. Lovely to see you again, Padmé."

She smiled, and bent down to kiss him on both cheeks. "Ben. How's the next book coming along?" 

"Terrible. Horrible. No good."

"Another bestseller, then?"

"Here's hoping.”

She laughed. "Can I bring you a coffee?" 

"That would be marvellous. Although – not that I’m unhappy to see you – but I thought  _chefs de cuisine_  were a little above waitressing duty?”

Padmé rolled her eyes. “Not today, apparently. One of my waiters up and quit last night, so I’m making it work until I can find a replacement.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

“You don’t want a part time job, do you?” she asked playfully.

“You really want me to spend  _more_  time around your attractive young wait staff?” he fired back with a mischievous grin, reaching into his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes.

She snorted, and said, “No, you’re right, I absolutely do  _not._  You cause enough trouble just eating here. Hey –  _you_  weren’t the reason my waiter quit, were you?!”

“That depends. Which one was he?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows roguishly and extracting a cigarette from the pack. She made an indignant noise, and he laughed. “I’m just teasing!”

“You better be. I’ll go and get you that coffee – anything else?”

He brought the cigarette to his lips to light it, took a draw and then exhaled away from her. “One of your legendary breakfasts would be lovely. And one of the delightful confections from your patisserie cabinet, as well, if you don't mind?"

"Certainly."

As he watched her go back inside the restaurant, something Quinlan had said to him the previous evening came back to him and he suddenly joined the dots. Chuckling to himself, he continued to smoke and read a little more of his book while he waited for her to return with his breakfast. When she came back outside, he looked up at her with a knowing smile.

“Why do you look like the cat who got the cream? I mean, that is your usual expression, but it seems particularly conspicuous today,” she deadpanned, looking suspicious.

“It turns out I’m privy to some insider knowledge about a secret admirer of yours,” he said lightly, taking another drag from his cigarette.

She raised an eyebrow. “…I dread to think. Do I even  _want_  to know?”

“Perhaps. But I think I’ll hold onto the information a little longer. Let you both stew.”

“Ben, you know very well I’m in a relationship,” she said with mock-sternness.

“Oh, I’m well aware. And this particular individual is about as incompatible with you as they come, so this will only end  _hilariously_. But allow me this small excitement, won’t you?” He gave her a wide, feline grin.

She shook her head in amused resignation. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m going back inside now.”

“Always a pleasure!” he crowed after her.

 

* * *

 

After landing at Charles De Gaulle Airport at around lunchtime Paris time, Anakin hopped in a cab to take him directly to Padmé’s restaurant on the Rue Garreau in the 18th arrondissement. He had caught a few suspicious glances in the airport, so he was keen to get outside and into the anonymity of the taxi. Part of him had wished it was winter so he could justify more layers of clothing to aid his disguise – as it stood, he had been forced to just pull his baseball cap further down and keep his gaze low. The ten-hour flight and nine-hour skip forward in time had left him with very little patience for nosy members of the public.

His atrocious grasp of the French language hadn’t made much headway with the driver, so he had eventually just shown the man his phone with Google Maps loaded up on the screen, which had seemed to do the trick. When he finally arrived at the restaurant and entered, still in his hat and glasses and trying to act as ‘touristy’ as he could, he told one of the bartenders that he was Padmé’s cousin visiting from America and that he would very much like to see her. The woman had given him a doubtful look, but fortunately Padmé herself had emerged from the kitchen at that moment.

“Ani?!”

Padmé, in chef whites with her hair braided back intricately to keep it out of her face, did a double-take and gave him an expression of wide-eyed wonder.

“Surprise!” Anakin grinned brightly, readjusting the carry-all over his shoulder which he had somewhat overburdened in his hurry to pack.

“Wha… what are you doing here?!”

“LA was boring and I missed you, so… here I am!”

“Uh, yeah… here you are!” Padmé said, obviously flustered. “Um, why don’t you come through to my office?”

He followed after her gratefully as he stifled a yawn, adjusting his carry-all again and tugging the small wheeled suitcase that carried the rest of his things behind him. After they entered her office and she closed the door behind him, she turned to face him.

Anakin sensed her slightly agitated energy, and groaned at himself. “Crap… this is a bad time, isn’t it. I knew I should have called first… what the hell was I thinking?”

“No, no…,” Padmé started, and then her expression softened and she opened her arms. “What am I doing? Come here, Ani. It’s so good to see you!”

His face brightened again, and he moved forward hastily to engulf her in a bear hug, picking her clean up off the floor and spinning her around. “It’s really good to see you too,” he mumbled into her shoulder as she laughed.

“Put me down, you big oaf. I can’t believe you’re here!” He placed her back down, and she smiled up at him. “You just caught me by surprise, that’s all. It’s the start of tourist season so everything’s crazy, and one of my waiters just quit last night… I’m just a little all over the place today!”

“I highly doubt that,” Anakin grinned, “If there is one thing Padmé Amidala has never been in her entire life, it’s all over the place.”

She elbowed him in the ribs fondly, and hugged him again. When she pulled away, she asked, “So, where are you staying? Somewhere near here?”

He gave his best apologetic smile. “Uh… with you?”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what I was expecting. Well, it is near here, I suppose!” Then, as if a thought had just occurred to her, she checked her watch. “Ani, you must be exhausted, it’s barely even morning in LA yet!”

As if on cue, he fought to suppress another yawn. “Uh, yeah… I slept a little on the flight, but I’m still pretty beat.”

“I bet. Let me let you up to my apartment so you can get some rest.”

“Thanks, Padmé. Oh, also – I told the bartender I was your cousin paying you a visit. Trying to keep a low profile while I’m here, for… obvious reasons.”

She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. “No problem, I’ll spread the word. Besides, if news got out that I had _Luke Solo_ staying with me…” she paused and winked teasingly, “…my restaurant would be overrun, and I’ve got enough to deal with right now!” Luke Solo was his stage name, devised early on in his career partly out of a desire for privacy, and partly because he’d quickly learned that a surprising number of people had a hard time spelling ‘Anakin’.

As she led him back out into the hot kitchen, she stopped briefly and made a quick announcement to her staff in French that Anakin assumed was in keeping with his cover story.They variously gave nods, polite smiles and a few half-hearted waves between them, obviously pre-occupied by the lunchtime rush. She shook her head with a smile, and whispered to him, “You’ll get them in a better mood once it quiets down in here a bit.”

Once they had left the restaurant and Padmé had brought him to her building door on the Rue Ravignan, he paused as he thought of something. “Hey, is there a drugstore near here by any chance? I… packed in a hurry.”

“Sure, head down to the end of the street and take a right, there’s one a couple of stores along. If you help me put your bags in the elevator, I can take them up for you.”

“Thanks Padmé – I won’t be long.”

 

* * *

 

Even though it would have been quicker to go to the métro station at Cambronne, Ben decided to get off at École Militaire and walk along the edge of the Champ de Mars to enjoy the blissful warmth of the late afternoon sun. His phone had reminded him earlier that day that he had arranged to have drinks with a friend, which was where he was headed now. He paused to peer across the gardens at the Tour Eiffel, which was swathed in a pleasant summer haze.

By the time he arrived at the bar on Boulevard Garibaldi where he was due to meet his friend, she was already there. Luminara Unduli was an old colleague of his from his previous career, who had recently moved to Paris to start in a new position at UNESCO. 

"Ben!" she exclaimed, getting up from her chair to embrace him. "It's so good to see you!”

“Luminara,” he smiled, returning the gesture. “You look great.” He sat down opposite her and saw her shake her head at him fondly.

“Me?! What about you - I swear, you get more attractive with every year that passes."

He chuckled. "Ah, that'll be the deal I made with the devil. Something about a portrait in my attic...?" 

She laughed. "That sounds about right. I went ahead and ordered us a bottle of red, I hope that's okay."

"You are truly doing good works," he grinned as she poured him a glass. "Speaking of, how's it going so far at the new job?"

"It's great! I like to think I’m settling in well.” She passed him the wine and he thanked her, clinking his glass against hers. “And it seems I’m not the only one from our background who decided they’d like to work there – I’ve spotted one or two familiar faces that I think you’d recognise. I have to say, it's nice to be focused on promoting a positive message for a change, instead of just incessantly reporting on bad news."

"I can imagine,” he mused, taking a sip. “You’re doing something to do with protecting press freedom, or have I got it wrong?”

“No, that’s right. Daunting, to say the least, but nobody can say I don’t have experience in the area! A lot of the work I’ll be doing is intended to promote the safety of journalists, and to combat impunity for those who attack them.”

“That does sound daunting! Rather you than me,” he said teasingly. “Seriously though Lu, that sounds really worthwhile. I have no doubt that you’ll make a difference there. Congratulations again.”

“Thank you, Ben,” she smiled, and then hesitated before saying tentatively, “Do you… do you ever miss it?”

"No," he replied, a little too quickly. 

Luminara looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, Ben, I didn't mean to bring--"

"It's alright," he interrupted, placing a hand on her wrist with a reassuring smile. "Am I glad I followed that path? Sometimes. But do I miss it? Not at all. I mean… you know what it was like as well as I do. I…,” He trailed off as he felt the stir of something suspiciously like an emotion within him, and inhaled sharply. “I, er… found it necessary to draw a line under that part of my life." He looked away and cleared his throat.

"I understand." It was her turn to look reassuring. "Let's talk about something happier. Your books are quite the success, aren't they? Everyone I know has read them."

Ben carefully refitted his mask of casual composure. "That's nice to hear. Yes, I suppose they are going quite well." Five years previously, on a whim, Ben had started writing a book set during the French Revolution, which had been an interest of his dating back to his teens. He had originally intended it as a passion project, mainly just to see if he could, and had decided to spend a few months in Paris to get a better sense for the place. On the advice of a friend, he had somewhat reluctantly sounded out getting it published. The book had been so unexpectedly successful that three more had followed, and he had decided to remain in the City of Light indefinitely.

"Remind me - did you specifically choose to set them during the French Revolution so you could justify becoming a Parisian bachelor?" She asked with a wry smile.

"Clearly it wasn't as subtle a move as I'd hoped," he replied with a wink. "Not really, but I’ll admit that strictly dealing with wars in the past tense has certainly made my life less complicated. I mean, let's be honest, it's historical fiction - I'm hardly Baudelaire. But I like researching and writing them, I like that Paris is a part of that, _and_ they seem to have kept me living comfortably so far, so you won’t hear any complaints from me.”

"I'll drink to that," she replied cheerfully, and raised her glass. 

Later that evening, as he made his way home up the Rue Houdon from Pigalle station - he had gotten off there specifically to avoid revisiting the endless steps at Abbesses – his mind replayed his evening with Luminara. It was comforting to know she was now nearby – she was one of the few people he still kept contact with from his ‘past life’, as he chose to think of it, and also one of the few that had a similar history.

He let his mind brush hesitantly over the moment where she had asked him if he missed his old line of work, and his fumbled reply. He usually considered himself skilled at compartmentalising - it was an ability that had become wholly sanity-preserving during his time as a war correspondent - but he had learned over the years that it typically became harder to do so each time July, and the anniversary, rolled around. Luminara and he weren't excessively close, but given their shared past she was now possibly the only person with whom he would have felt comfortable talking about the reason he'd left that life behind. Right then however, with the anniversary looming in the not too distant future, he hadn't trusted himself to. 

 _Sorry Lu, it's nothing personal,_  he thought.  _I'd have just made myself sad, and what would that have achieved? It won't change anything, so what's the point?_ Sidestepping slow-moving tourists on the crowded pavement, he sighed, and wondered what this year's distraction should be. In the seven years since it had happened, Ben had learned - mainly through trial and error - that if he could find something to hold his interest completely for most of July, he could get through it fairly unscathed. Although, that did depend on one’s definition of ‘unscathed’ – he didn’t think he could apply that particular descriptor to any of the summers he’d tried to distract himself with alcohol.

 _I think if I chose booze again my liver would never forgive me. Still, everything in moderation,_ he mused, stopping in at a bodega to buy some wine. _If I could make it writing this time around, it might get the next book done a lot sooner than planned._ Remembering he also needed toothpaste, he scanned the shelves for toiletries, his gaze landing on a box of condoms low down.  _Then again, there’s always sex,_ he thought with a smirk. _I did enjoy those particular summers very much._

He paid for his things and resumed his journey towards home. Passing by Quinlan’s brasserie, he peered inside to see if he could spot him, but eventually concluded he wasn’t working tonight. As he turned onto his street, he concluded that the mature thing to do would be to try and throw himself headfirst into finishing the book over the next month. His editor would certainly appreciate it. Tonight, however, called for more immediate measures of distraction to take his mind off things. He fully intended to apply what he liked to think of as his ‘unhealthy body, unhealthy mind’ approach: wine, junk food and 80s music.

 

* * *

 

“Shit!” Anakin had only meant to dye his hair, not the entirety of Padmé’s expensive white bathtub. He hastily rinsed it all down as best he could, hoping it wouldn’t leave stains. Once he was sure it was all clean, he hazarded a look in the mirror. The end result was darker than he’d expected – even though the box he’d purchased was in French, the woman on it had hair of a medium brown colour – but either way, he hoped it would improve his chances of going unrecognised in Paris. He arranged his hair one way, and then the other, around his face – he usually wore it tied back, so hoped leaving it down and parting it differently would help matters. He’d decided to keep using the fake glasses too. He put them on, assessed his reflection, and was pleased with the end result.

 _I never thought I’d ever miss something as mundane as anonymity,_ he mused. _Do I actually have to change my appearance and flee the country to be a normal person now?_ He knew his makeshift disguise wouldn’t have made much difference if he were still in LA – sooner or later, someone always seemed to spot him. In Paris, however, he hoped people generally cared less about trivial things like ‘movie stars’.

He dried off his hair a little more, cringing as he noticed the dark staining that now covered the towel he’d borrowed from Padmé’s linen closet. He picked up his phone from next to the sink and tapped out a quick text to her:

<sorry in advance about yr towel – youll see when you get home! will buy you new set>

Flipping off the light as he left the bathroom, he paused to take another admiring look around Padmé’s home. He had only been able to visit her once in Paris so far, just after she had first moved and before she had lived in this apartment, and he had only seen it via their Skype calls. It was predictably beautiful. Occupying the top two floors of her building, it was all white walls, delicate decorations and elegant furniture. A wrought iron spiral staircase provided access to the upper floor, which held the two bedrooms and the bathroom. Anakin recalled with amusement the exasperated phone call he’d received from her earlier that year when her parents had gleefully surprised her with it on her 30th birthday. Padmé came from a wealthy political family, and although he knew it was in her nature not to want to depend on them, it seemed they couldn’t always help spoiling her.

Descending the staircase to the lower floor, he decided to send a text Ahsoka too – now he’d adjusted a little more to the reality that he’d run away to Paris on a whim, he felt bad about abandoning her back in LA so soon after her ordeal. He let her know where he was, and that if she wanted Cody to come and stay with her he would arrange it. Cody was officially his minder of several years, but was more importantly his trusted friend. He was also built like a brick outhouse, so if anything was going to make Ahsoka feel safer, it was probably him.

Lastly, he typed out a quick e-mail out to Aayla, asking her how _this_ was for laying low, and then headed out to the balcony to see the city at night. He leant over the wrought-iron railing, taking in the stunning view that he could see over the rooftops at the bottom of the street and feeling the warm evening breeze against his damp hair. The view was breathtaking. He craned his neck out further into the night, breathing it in. Already, he felt lighter, at a safe distance from the claustrophobia of LA. 

He looked down to the street below, which was a hive of activity even at this time of night. There were several bars, and all of them had people using the outside seating, making the most of the warm weather. If he turned his head to the right, he could see Padmé’s restaurant further up, the tables on the cobbles outside still packed. There was a busker playing the saxophone on the steps of the little square next to it, and a few people were dancing. From somewhere closer, he could hear what sounded like ‘The Power Of Love’ by Huey Lewis & The News playing. _Maybe one of these is some kind of retro bar,_ he thought, scanning the storefronts below for evidence. Movement higher up caught his eye, and he followed it – and burst out laughing.

From the balcony, he found himself looking down into the window of an apartment directly across the street, inside which there was a man in a t-shirt and boxer shorts performing some of the cheesiest dance moves Anakin had ever seen. Every so often the man would pause and do something at a countertop slightly out of sight, and then resume his enthusiastic dancing. Anakin realised he was cooking, mainly clued in by the wooden spoon he was now using as a fake microphone. Highly amused, he squinted a little to get a better look at him and belatedly realised he was still wearing the fake glasses, which were covered in his fingerprints. Taking them off gave him a clearer view, but he was too far away to make out any of the man’s features. _At least I can see you have a nice ass from here_ , Anakin thought appreciatively, as the song changed to what he was almost certain was ‘Need You Tonight’ by INXS and more hip action was apparently called for.

He laughed to himself and, feeling positive about his unplanned international adventure thus far, he decided to head down to Padmé’s to try out his new disguise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments and kudos on the previous chapter guys! <3 I will try and respond to them all, I promise!
> 
> Re: the chapter summary - I am embracing my cheesiest self. Watch this all go wrong when I choose a song where the title is completely irrelevant to its lyrics.
> 
> If you'd like to read more about how Anakin's makeshift disguise is going to work, please [click here](http://www.dictionary.com/browse/gratuitous%20artistic%20license?s=t).
> 
> Hope you all enjoy Anakin's stage name, btw! c:


	3. The Sun Always Shines On T.V.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i reached inside myself and found_   
>  _nothing there to ease the_   
>  _pressure of my ever worrying mind_

Ben was leaving the bookshop when his phone rang. He'd headed over earlier that morning to meet its owner Henri, who'd had to cancel on him the night before last, in order to finalise the details of his upcoming book signing.

Stepping out into the midday sun and squinting, he retrieved his sunglasses from his shirt pocket and slid them on before answering the call – after he’d taken a glance at the screen.

"What do you want?"

"...why do you I assume I want something?!" came Quinlan’s indignant response.

"You only call me when you want something,” Ben replied absently, sandwiching the phone between his ear and shoulder as he reached around to his back pocket for his pack of cigarettes.

"That is completely untrue! I call you for lots of reasons! I barely ask you for anything!”

Ben smirked as he extracted the pack and his lighter. "Oh, my mistake. Just calling for a chat, then?"

After some hesitation, he heard Quinlan reply, "...well, okay, so this time as it happens, I do have a small favour to ask-"

"I'd never have guessed," Ben interjected as he slid a cigarette between his lips and lit it.

“-I need you to have dinner with me tonight.”

"Well, really, Quin, now you just sound desperate,” he said teasingly. Taking a draw, he held his breath as he felt the first inhale fill his lungs with a pleasing tingle.

Quinlan gave a sarcastic laugh. “Very funny. Not everything's about you, asshole. Anyway – dinner’s on me, so what do you say?”

"Vos, the last time you promised me a free dinner it was cold takeaway - a fact which doesn't fill me with much optimism this time around," Ben replied drily. He leant back against the wall behind him and took another inhale.

"A real,  _hot_  dinner this time. I promise."

"... well, that’s the ‘bare minimum’ requirement fulfilled. Where?" he ventured, exhaling smoke upwards and idly watching a plane pass overhead in the cloudless sky.

"The restaurant on the Rue Garreau where the hot chef works?" Quinlan’s response came out as a question, in the way it often did when he was unconsciously looking for someone else to validate his idea.

Ben's mouth curled into a devilish smile as he brought the cigarette to his lips again, and he paused. "Oh,  _there!_  Well, why didn't you say so? So tonight’s the big night then, is it?”

"He who dares wins, Kenobi! She’s not going to be able to resist me. I’m getting me some of that.”

"And they say romance is dead,” Ben replied wryly, exhaling again. “Go on then, I suppose I’ve got nothing better to do. What time's the reservation?"

"What? Shit, you think I need to make a reservation?"

Ben rolled his eyes. "Quinlan, I know you exist mostly on bar snacks and hard spirits, so this may be a foreign concept to you, but normal people make reservations if they want to eat dinner at popular restaurants.  _Particularly_  if it happens to be tourist season in a capital city."

"Goddamn it-" he heard Quinlan exclaim, and the line went dead. He chuckled. 

Ben had made his way back to the river, pausing to admire the houseboats that were moored along its edges, and was crossing the bridge over to the Île de la Cité when he heard his phone ping with a text message.

<got us res for 2x at 5.30 tonite. indoor table all i could get> 

He snorted, coming to a stop on the bridge, and tapped back, <Oh perfect. So we'll be eating our dinner at the same time as elderly tourists, inside a boiling hot restaurant, during a heatwave. Can't wait.>

<may i remind u ur not paying> came the immediate reply.

<I’ll need an extra bottle of red. Consider it my tax for your lack of forethought.>

 

* * *

 

"Wake up, sleeping beauty. You're not wasting the entire morning in bed!"

Anakin was rudely awoken by Padmé throwing open the curtains in his room. He groaned, flinging an arm over his eyes to defend against the bright sunlight. "...but... jetlag!" he managed.

"Aww, poor little movie star," she giggled. "The best way to get over jetlag is to push through it, so get up! I've got the morning off, so we're going for a walk."

Anakin rolled over grumpily and pulled his pillow over his face. He was feeling ever so slightly delicate from the night before. His disguise had been a roaring success in the restaurant – as he’d hoped, no one had looked at him twice. Padmé’s staff had been a lot more laid-back once the dinner rush had ended, and had taken him under their wing to ply him with drinks in exchange for stories about their boss. Thankfully, he’d been able to share several funny anecdotes about the time they’d spent as colleagues without having to edit himself too carefully.

Once he had managed to drag himself out of bed, wash and get dressed, Padmé had coaxed him outside into the hot day. Now, they were seated on the steps of the Basilica de Sacré-Coeur, Anakin feeling _slightly_ less grumpy due to the chocolate crêpe Padmé had bought him on the way.

Padmé paused to tie her hair back into an intricate bun that Anakin had no idea how she’d created, then turned to him with an expectant look on her face. "So?"

"...so?"

"You didn't think I was going to let you off that easy, did you?"

"...sorry, did I miss part of this conversation?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Ani. People don't just take impromptu same-day flights thousands of miles overseas because they're 'bored'." She made air-quotes with her fingers. "And the texts you sent me certainly didn't imply boredom was the problem. What's going on?"

He rolled his eyes and took a defiant bite of his crêpe. 

She gave him a little nudge with her elbow. "Come on Ani, you can talk to me. What's up? Is it because of what your agent said to you?"

He pushed his sunglasses up on his nose where they had begun to slide down in the heat, and looked pensively at the crowds of tourists that had already begun to gather on the plaza. "I guess that's part of it," he said, after a moment. 

"About you getting a bad reputation? Well... I mean, it's not great, but you aren't exactly the first actor with that problem. I’m sure there's still time to make it right."

"It's not just that... I'm just... tired. Like, is this really what I want to do with my life?"

Padmé's brow furrowed. "Oh Ani, but you love acting!"

"Yeah, I do... Not that what I do is _acting_. I spend most of my time in front of green screens wearing dumb costumes, throwing myself around and reeling off witty one liners." He scoffed. "It's not exactly Shakespeare."

"But I thought you liked doing those movies?"

He scrubbed at his face with his free hand. "I do... That's not fair, I do. I just... I didn't think it'd be all I was doing."

"I can see how it might get repetitive. Have you thought about trying for other roles?"

"I have! Tried, I mean. But the answer has pretty much been 'with the way you look, action movies is where you belong, and you can't deviate'."

"So what you're saying is... you're sad because... you're too handsome?" She teased.

He gave her a playful shove and she giggled.

"You know I'm only joking,” she smiled. “It sucks not to be taken seriously because of the way you look. You know I'm no stranger to that concept - remember that asshole head chef we had in Brentwood?"

Anakin did, and gave a dry laugh in affirmation. "God, he was the worst. I'll always regret not beating the crap out of him."

Padmé laughed. "Don't tell anyone, but I kind of regret that too." 

He offered her a bite of his crêpe, and they spent a quiet moment gazing out at the view over the city that was visible from their high vantage point. He was glad of the anonymity that the crowds afforded him. They were all far too interested in looking at the church and the view to give him a second glance.

“There is something else that’s been on my mind,” Anakin began after a moment, then got cold feet. “...Nah, nevermind, it’s lame.”

“Ani,” Padmé said softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “No judgment here, remember?”

He groaned. “It’s just… I think part of the reason I’ve been so frustrated at work recently is that… well,” he paused, absently reaching up to rub at the back of his neck where the hot sun was making it itch. “...it's just that recently I've been feeling, like, is this all there is? Go to work, come home, eat, sleep, repeat. And when we aren't filming, it's - do photoshoots, do press tours, do interviews. I like my cast members, and they're fun to hang out with, but... coming home to that big stupid empty house... Ugh, I don't know. It's dumb."

"I don't think it's dumb at all, Ani... If i'm honest, it sounds like you might be a little lonely. What happened to that guy you were seeing a few months back?"

He made a face. "Yeah, that went precisely nowhere. He had... weird hang ups."

"Oh, that's too bad. Well, okay, when's the last time you met someone new outside of work?"

He thought for a moment, but came up empty. "...I honestly can't even remember. I was away on location til the start of May, and then..." Anakin groaned. "It's so hard, Padmé. If I try to date normal people, the invasion of their privacy almost always sends it straight to hell. Plus, I can never really be sure if they want to be with me or with 'Luke'. But, if I try to date other actors, then my own privacy gets invaded twice as bad. I can't win!"

"So what, you're just going to stay on your own forever?"

"No, I just..." He groaned again. "I just wish I could meet someone who I knew didn't care about the whole celebrity thing, and without the goddamn paparazzi interfering nonstop."

"You think you’ll find that in LA?"

"No. That's what I'm worried about."

When it was nearly time for Padmé to start her shift, they meandered back through the winding streets of Montmartre to the restaurant. Her hostess, Sabé, met them at the door with a panicked expression on her face.

"Where have you been? I've been trying to call you!"

Padmé looked alarmed, and hastily dug out her phone from her purse. She raised her eyebrows as she saw the various missed calls and messages cluttering the screen. "Shit, I forgot to take it off silent! What's wrong?"

"Hollé fell and broke her ankle last night!" Hollé was one of Padmé’s waitresses. Anakin had met her the night before.

Padmé looked panicked. "Oh my god, what happened? Is she alright?"

"She was walking home from her shift last night and took a bad step off a kerb. She’s alright, but she'll be off her feet for at least a month; it sounds like a bad break. Now we're two staff down, and we're fully booked tonight!"

Before Padmé could respond, Anakin took hold of her arm and gave it a little squeeze. "Don't panic! I can fill in for you."

Both she and Sabé turned to look at him incredulously.

"Ani, I can't ask you to do that. You're my guest here... even if I wasn't expecting you to be," Padmé said, a hint of dry wit tinging the end of her sentence. 

He pretended not to notice her sarcasm. "So what? You need help, and I want to help you out. Plus, it's not like I've never done it before... Consider it my payment for showing up unannounced."

Padmé looked undecided. Meanwhile, Sabé raised an eyebrow at him and looked unimpressed. "But... you don't speak French." 

Anakin gave her a winning smile. "I'll make it work. I'm charming like that!" She didn't look convinced. "Just... try and put all the English-speakers in my section."

She looked at Padmé for her verdict. Padmé looked back and forth between them. Finally, she gave a hesitant smile. "Uh... well, ok, but just for a day or two til I can arrange replacements... Ani, why don't you come through to the office so I can, um, talk you through the menu?" 

"Do you even have suitable clothes to wear?" Sabé asked, arching an eyebrow. Her manner was blunt, and seemed disapproving.

The staff in Padmé's restaurant wore a uniform of all black. Anakin looked down at his current outfit - black t-shirt, black jeans, black boots - and gave her a cheeky smile. "I think I can make something work."

In her office, after she closed the door behind her, Padmé turned to him with a worried look on her face. "Ani, are you sure this is a good idea? What if someone recognises you?"

"I spent all night in plain view of just about everyone in your restaurant last night and no one so much as blinked at me. They're more interested in the food… as they should be.” He grinned. “Plus, I want to do it... It'll give me a chance to feel normal for once. Please, Padmé?" 

"Well..."

He pouted and gave her the biggest puppy-dog eyes he could muster. "Pleeease?"

"Okay, okay, enough!" she laughed, conceding. "Let me get you one of the menus with English translation. I'll get Sabé to show you the section we need covered. And um... Maybe I should write some basic French phrases down for you, just in case. You better start after the lunch rush has calmed down - it might give you time to ease in before the madness of dinner.”

 

* * *

 

As they entered the restaurant and were seated by Sabé, the hostess, Ben made sure to ask her to tell Padmé that he was here. A few minutes later, the woman herself appeared at their table and greeted Ben with her customary two cheek-kisses. Quinlan looked equal parts confused and alarmed as he realised Ben's deceit. 

"Ben, it's not often I get the pleasure of you dining here in the evening!" she exclaimed.

He smiled sweetly and gestured jovially to Quinlan. "I know, but my friend Quinlan here told me that he'd never eaten at your place before, so I knew I had to make him see what he was missing."

"Well, I'll never say no to new business." Padmé turned to Quinlan with a warm smile. "I hope it lives up to expectation."

Quinlan, who had managed to recompose himself slightly as the others had spoken, plastered on his most charming grin - though Ben preferred to use a different adjective - and puffed up his chest. "Oh, I don’t doubt that it will. By the way, can I ask you something?"

"Of course," Padmé nodded, a polite expression on her face. Ben could feel laughter threatening at the corners of his mouth in anticipation of just how much Quinlan was about to embarrass himself.

"Are you a parking ticket? Because you've got  _fine_ written all over you."

Ben was shaking slightly in his seat now with the effort it was taking to stop himself from cackling. As he had trusted she would, Padmé arched one elegant eyebrow at him, obviously remembering their conversation from the previous day, and then turned back to Quinlan with an expression of stony composure.

In the most perfectly calm voice, she replied casually, "What a coincidence. You've got 'overdue for impound' written all over you."

Ben snorted and exploded with laughter. Quinlan looked as if he was in a state of shock. Padmé fixed Ben with a scolding look and said to him, "I think I prefer it when you just come for breakfast. I'll send someone over to take your order."

 

* * *

 

Anakin was hovering by a diagram of the restaurant's table plan that was taped to a noticeboard in Padmé's office, trying to memorise the boundaries of his section. The computer system the staff used also contained all of this information and more, but he hadn't felt like thumbing through the French-English dictionary that Padmé had loaned him to translate it all. He was also thinking about his earlier conversation with her. 

_"So what, you're just going to stay on your own forever?"_

That certainly wasn't what he wanted, but it felt like that was the way his life was headed if he spent more and more time as 'Luke Solo'.  _If only I could meet someone who had no idea who I was. Then I'd be free to get to know them without all that getting in the way._

There was another thought bothering him too. Although he had opened up to Padmé earlier, he hadn't told her the full scope of what had been on his mind recently. His most recent movie had featured a tragic storyline where his character had lost his beloved wife through a mistake of his own making, and it had caused him to develop the sneaking suspicion that he himself had never actually been in love.

Of course, he loved Padmé - she was one of his closest friends and he cared for her deeply - but as time had gone on, he had come to realise that he had never truly been  _in love_ with her during their time as a couple. Anakin sighed as he reopened the translated menu that she had given him to make sure he had it down.  _Will I ever get to feel that kind of love in real life?_

He thought back to the smattering of dates he'd been on in the last few years. After his debut in the first movie, newly wealthy and still enamoured with the magic of Tinseltown, he had taken great joy in using his money and relative power to sweep his dates off their feet. The novelty had since worn off, but the romantic part of him secretly longed for someone, even just once, to do the same for him.  

Lost in thought, Padmé made him jump as she burst into her office unexpectedly in a fit of laughter. He looked up at her in alarm.

"Oh my god, Ani, I literally just had someone use the  _worst_ pick-up line  _of all time_ on me!" she giggled hysterically.

"What? Tell me!"

Padmé repeated what the customer had said to her, and Anakin covered his face with his hands in mock-anguish. "No! Someone actually said that to you? In this century?! You’ve gotta show me immediately. I don't know whether I want to punch him or ask him where it all went wrong."

"Hey, no punching! Though the latter option  _might_  be justified," she chuckled. "Come see - Sabé just seated him in your section." 

She beckoned him to the kitchen doorway and pointed at a table in the middle of the restaurant, where two men were seated. "The guy with the dreadlocks is the one with the awful line," she whispered conspiratorially. 

Anakin peered over the bar at them. They were conversing animatedly, and he would have assumed they were arguing if not for their exaggerated expressions and the warmth in both of their eyes. He looked at the man Padmé had pointed out in amusement, and then took a cursory glance at the other man at the table, who was... unexpectedly attractive. He was a redhead, with lively grey eyes, a neatly trimmed beard and a slight tan. He seemed to carry himself with an easy, yet deliberate poise. Anakin realised he must have been staring when he felt a hard object being jabbed into his ribs.

He soon realised it was Padmé holding a notepad and pen, and she was smirking at him. “Yes, his friend is very handsome. When you’re done gawping, would you consider taking their drink order?”

 

* * *

 

 After she left, Ben's eyes were streaming, and Quinlan fixed him with an accusatory glare. "Want to explain what just happened, Kenobi?!"

Ben gasped for breath and wiped at his face with his hands. "Possibly the best moment of my year," he managed. " _What_ was that  _line?!"_

"What?! That line has worked for me plenty of times!" Quinlan shot back indignantly. "It's not that bad!"

"Vos, there is literally _no way_ that line has ever worked on anyone."

"And don't get me started on the fact that you know her - did you plan this?! Did you know this was going to happen?"

"Oh, just since yesterday morning when I put two and two together."

"How do you even know about this place?!"

"Quinlan, I live 200 yards away."

"You set me up!"

"Of course I did!” Ben laughed. “Sometimes the thought of embarrassing you is the only thing that keeps me going."

"I don't know what I did to deserve this... this  _unprovoked sabotage_ of my romantic prospects!"

"Firstly, she's in a relationship, so you never had a chance. Secondly, this was in no way unprovoked - this was sweet, sweet revenge, served perfectly chilled," Ben said smugly.

Quinlan looked bemused. "Revenge for what?!"

" _Revenge_ for last month, when you didn't want me to take that adorable bartender home because it meant I'd stop drinking with you, so you waited until I went to bathroom, and then told him I had a new type of STD that was so rare that doctors didn't know how to treat it!" 

"Oh yeah... I did do that, didn't I," Quinlan replied, a sly grin forming on his face. "Well, I think it says more about you that he believed me, personally."

"Kindly get fucked, Quinlan."

"I'm trying!"

They both burst out laughing. 

"With friends like us, hmm?" Ben grinned.

"I don't know why I put up with you, but it sure is entertaining. Anyway, I've had enough of your abuse for this particular moment. I need to use the little boys' room."

Ben pointed him in the right direction, and as he watched Quinlan go he spotted a man in the kitchen doorway behind the bar that he didn't recognise.  _Padmé must have found a replacement waiter already, that's good._ The man was talking to someone out of sight and as he turned slightly Ben's eyebrows raised involuntarily.  _Hello there,_  he thought. 

He was tall, taller than Ben by the look of it and younger too, with tanned skin and dark brown hair. He wore black-framed glasses that sat in front of deep blue eyes, and was dressed in the black t-shirt and jeans that all Padmé’s staff wore in summer. Ben took the sight of him in appreciatively, and when the brunette apparently realised he was being watched and caught his eye, Ben didn't look away. 

They held each other's gaze for a moment, and Ben gave him a subtle nod of acknowledgement without breaking eye contact. The man's eyebrows raised and he looked away and back to whoever he was talking to, a little too quickly to be natural. Ben smiled to himself.  _Cute_ and _shy. I haven't been with someone like that in a while._

"Jesus, Ben, look at that waiter - doesn't he look just like that actor?" Quinlan exclaimed as he returned to their table, pointing unsubtly. "The one from all those comic book movies. God, what's his name... Luke something?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Ben replied, his eyes never leaving the brunette. "You know I only go to see pretentious arthouse films these days. There's just something about leaving the cinema at a complete loss to whether I actually enjoyed myself. Now stop pointing, will you, he's about to come and take our order."

As he approached, the brunette’s face took on a slightly bashful smile than Ben found surprisingly endearing.

“Uh, hi there…,” he began as came to a stop at their table. “Am I right in thinking you guys speak English?”

 _Hmm, so he’s American. That’s new._ Ben had been expecting him to be French-speaking like the rest of Padmé’s staff. Not for the first time, he resented the fact that she didn’t make her staff wear name-tags. Meanwhile, Quinlan chuckled and confirmed that they did, in fact, speak English.

"Oh thank god! Don’t tell, but my French is pretty shameful." The waiter said with an apologetic smile. "I speak very decent Spanish, though!"

"That's funny... I speak very  _indecent_  Spanish," Ben replied, smiling innocently. The other blinked, his eyes widening.

Quinlan kicked him under the table.

"What?" Ben asked with feigned ignorance, turning to him and making an exaggerated puzzled expression.

"You’ll have to excuse my friend here. He's depraved," Quinlan said, by way of explanation to the man. “Can we order a bottle of red to drink please? A Merlot would be great, and some water for the table too?”

The brunette nodded gratefully and wrote something down on his notepad.

Ben was not to be deterred. "Oh really, Quinlan, get your mind out of the gutter. I simply meant that my Spanish is far below the level I'd like it to be!" he exclaimed. He was enjoying watching this one squirm. 

Quinlan rolled his eyes and Ben chuckled at his own joke.

Meanwhile, the man seemed to compose himself. "Sounds like you aren't very good with your tongue," he suggested, one eyebrow raised.

This caused Quinlan to guffaw loudly. Meanwhile, Ben was pleasantly surprised that the newfound object of his attention was not as shy and retiring as he had first assumed. He fixed the other with his most disarming smile and said, "Oh, I don't know about that... but one can always use more practice. What are you doing later?"

“Not you,” the handsome waiter shot back with a withering smile. “I’ll get you guys that wine now.” He turned to retreat to the bar slightly too fast, but not before Ben noticed the slight blush rising up his neck.

Quinlan had been cackling obnoxiously, but his laughter stopped abruptly when he noticed that, far from looking embarrassed, Ben's expression was one of pure delight. 

"What are you so happy about?" he asked indignantly.

Ben grinned and sat back in his chair languidly, his eyes still following the waiter’s retreat. "Oh, Quinlan, _really_. You should know me better than that by now... this is my absolute _favourite_ game to play."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little Christmas present for you all. This one's been cooking for a while... think it's about done! Hope you like it :) <3


	4. Take On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _we're talking away_   
>  _i don't know what i'm to say_   
>  _i'll say it anyway_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild update appears!

_The nerve of that guy._  
  
It had been a long time since Anakin had been this infuriated. He couldn’t stop thinking about the utter arrogance of the redhead from the night before, who had flirted with him relentlessly and obnoxiously the _entire_ time he had waited his table. _Coming on to your waiter? Real classy, asshole,_ he thought while aggressively scrubbing Padmé’s expensive, jasmine-scented shampoo into his hair. He had almost been too annoyed to sleep.  
  
_And that whole line about indecent Spanish? What even was that?!!_ Fuming silently to himself, he ducked his head under the showerhead to rinse his hair, and then reached for the shower gel from the basket that hung over the lip of the bathtub. The fact that the man had left him nearly a 40% tip when the pair had settled their bill had annoyed him even further. That Anakin had found the man wildly attractive - before he’d had the displeasure of actually meeting him - only added insult to injury.

It also didn’t help that the entire evening had gone downhill from there. Even with Sabé seating mostly English-speakers in his section, he had been so distracted by the earlier affront that he had gotten 3 separate orders wrong, dropped a dish on its way out of the kitchen, and only narrowly avoided delivering three fingers of whiskey to the seat of a child under 10. At the end of the night Padmé had gently suggested that putting him on the evening shift had probably been akin to throwing him in at the deep end, and had negotiated with the rest of her staff to swap their shifts around so he could work the quieter early shift. He understood why, but it just made him even madder at the cocky stranger for making him seem so incompetent in front of his temporary colleagues.  
  
When he was done showering, Anakin used one of Padmé’s impossibly fluffy towels to dry off the excess water from his hair – leaving more faint brown dye stains on the fabric, _oops_ – before slinging it round his shoulders and crossing to the sink to brush his teeth. Halfway through, he caught sight of his hands in the bathroom mirror, and realised he should probably cut his nails in the interest of hygiene, now he was working with food again. Toothbrush hanging from his mouth, he did a quick scan of Padmé’s bathroom cabinets for clippers, but came up empty.  
  
He swung the towel down from his shoulders with one hand and held it in front of his groin as he pushed open the bathroom door with the other. It had been years since he and Padmé had dated, and their relationship now mostly resembled that of close siblings more than anything else, but he still didn’t worry about being undressed in front of her. It was an intimacy they had never really lost. Peering down the short hallway in the direction of her bedroom, he saw her standing with her back to him, folding some clothes at the end of her bed.  
  
“Hey, where do you keep your nail clippers?” he called, his mouth still full of toothbrush.  
  
Padmé turned to face him, and he suddenly realised that she very much wasn’t Padmé. The woman facing him had a similar height and frame to Padmé’s, and similar brown hair, but the wide-eyed expression of shock at the nearly naked man standing in front of her certainly didn’t belong to his friend.  
  
“Ah!” he exclaimed, spraying toothpaste froth everywhere, and ducked back into the bathroom in a panic. Hastily, he spat into the sink and wrapped the towel around his waist properly, then poked his head back out of the bathroom. “Sorry! I’m so sorry, I thought you were Padmé!”  
  
The woman who wasn’t Padmé was standing in the bedroom doorway, her hand brought up to her mouth to hide polite laughter. “It’s alright,” she said with a smile. She spoke with a strong French accent. “You must be Anakin, yes?”  
  
“Uh, yeah,” he replied, relaxing a little to venture back out of the bathroom. “Sorry, you are…?”

“I’m Dormé,” she responded, smiling warmly.

“Oh, uh… _oh!_ Dormé! You’re Padmé's girlfriend!” Anakin had a moment of recognition. “She’s told me all about you - it’s really good to finally meet you!” He grinned, and then awkwardly adjusted his towel as an afterthought. “Sorry I'm so… undressed.”

She laughed and shook her head. It was a nice, genuine sound. Anakin decided he liked her. He knew from his e-mails back and forth with Padmé that she had met Dormé at the start of the year, and that she worked for the company that supplied wine to Padmé’s restaurant.

“I’ll admit, you caught me a little by surprise. But it is very nice to meet you too… Padmé’s _cousin.”_ She gave him a knowing look, and Anakin’s eyes widened. She giggled. “Your secret is safe with me, Mr Movie Star, I promise. She just didn't want to have to lie to me.”

After a moment, Anakin nodded slowly, still feeling a little apprehensive even though he knew she was telling the truth. Padmé hated dishonesty of any kind, and he was aware from their correspondence that her relationship with Dormé was quickly becoming serious.

“She said you should go down to the restaurant when you wake up,” Dormé continued, going back to folding clothes. “I think she has some things she would like your help with.”

Back in his room, Anakin took a cursory glance at his phone as he got dressed. He was currently ignoring no less than seven e-mails and four voice messages from Aayla that all followed the same general theme: ‘What the hell do you mean, you’re in Paris?!’ He had no particular interest in answering any of them at that present moment, and not just because he still had no idea how long he actually planned on being here.

After he’d pulled on clean clothes, he wandered downstairs with the intention of rifling through Padmé’s cupboards for something resembling breakfast. However, he found himself drawn to the balcony, and tried to tell himself that it was to take in the view and not in hopes of catching another glimpse of Padmé’s attractive neighbour. The vista of the city remained as beautiful as ever: the June heatwave was still in full swing, and clear blue sky sprawled out in all directions over the City of Light as it shimmered in the heat. He was mostly successful in ignoring the small feeling of sadness that came when he realised that the man who lived across the street was not currently home. _God, Padmé_ _was right about me being lonely. Disappointed over a cute stranger._

Once Anakin made his way to the kitchen, he found Dormé there, who offered him fruit and croissants for breakfast. After some pleasant conversation which further reinforced his positive opinion of her, he finally ventured down to the restaurant.

 

\---

 

"Oh, so you're following me now?"  
  
The redhead from the night before was sat at one of the outside tables, drinking a coffee and smoking a cigarette. He was wearing beige chinos with the ankles rolled up, navy deck shoes, a white shirt with thin blue pinstripes that was open to the third button, and a pair of tortoiseshell-framed sunglasses. He held a well-worn paperback open in one hand. Anakin, who was currently regretting his choice of dark clothing in the direct sunlight, found himself irrationally annoyed by how impossibly cool and collected he looked.  
  
"Oh, hello there," he said casually as he looked up. "You know, it's days like this I really regret not paying more attention in science lessons."  
  
Anakin frowned, not following. "What?"  
  
The man closed his paperback after folding down a corner of his current page and placed it on the table. "Well, I can't seem to remember a single thing in any one of my textbooks about the universe revolving around you."  
  
Anakin scowled before he could stop himself, and the other laughed, but there was no malice in it. "Oh relax, I'm just teasing. You're cute when you’re annoyed though, you get all pouty. And no, I'm not following you. I happen to live right there," he said, gesturing with his cigarette to the street Anakin had just come from.  
  
"Oh," said Anakin, somewhat lamely. He turned to follow his gesture, and belatedly realised that could only mean the man lived on the same street as Padmé. _Just my luck,_ he thought.  
  
"I don't think I caught your name," the man said, drawing Anakin's gaze back to him.  
  
"I don't think I gave it," Anakin replied bluntly. He was determined not to give anything away to this guy.  
  
"Ah, I see," he said mildly, his calmness only serving to irritate Anakin further. "Well, all in good time. I'm Ben, by the way."  
  
"Do you need anything, or can I go?"  
  
Ben raised his eyebrows ever so slightly, but seemed to keep his cool. "Well, the service here has _really_ gone downhill," he commented, amusement playing on his lips.  
  
Anakin caught himself - this was Padmé's restaurant, and he shouldn't scare away her customers. "Sorry," he said shortly. "It's just... you're pretty damn arrogant, you know that?"  
  
"Do go on; I love a good character assassination." Ben took a draw of his cigarette and peered at him over his sunglasses expectantly.  
  
Anakin scoffed. _This guy is impossible_ . "I just think you're a little full of yourself."  
  
"Hmm, it's been said. I prefer to think of it as just... knowing what I like." Ben smiled warmly and took a sip of his coffee.  
  
"And what do you like?" Anakin asked sarcastically, intending it to sound mocking, and then cringed inwardly. _Nice, you walked straight into that one_ .  
  
Ben gave a delighted laugh, obviously pleased with Anakin’s answer. "I'm not sure you want me to answer that," he smirked. "Suffice to say that at the moment, I very much like tall, mysterious American waiters who seem determined to resist all of my charms."  
  
"I’ll be sure to let you know my thoughts just as soon as I see any," Anakin fired back, trying to ignore the blush he felt creeping up his neck.  
  
"Ouch," Ben chuckled amiably. "You really come from the 'treat them mean' school of thought, don't you?"  
  
"You could say I just know what I like."  
  
" _Touché_ ," Ben grinned. There was something disarming about his smile. Anakin couldn't seem to look away.  
  
"So, uh, what do you do when you're not harassing busy waiters?" he asked hastily, attempting a change of subject.  
  
"I’m a writer,” Ben said casually, picking up his coffee again to finish it off. Then, he gave Anakin a knowing look over the top of his glasses. “You know, that sounded awfully like you just asked me about myself. Perhaps you're not so sure what it is you like after all.”  
  
_Shit_ . "...Don't get excited. I was just making conversation." He tried to style it out.  
  
"Of course you were. Although, I can't say I believe you about the busy part, since you've been out here talking to me for the last ten minutes..."  
  
_What? No way, it's only been one or two..._ Anakin suddenly realised he was leaning on the back of the other chair at Ben’s table. When had he done that?

Ben’s smile widened at his obvious confusion. “Or, could it perhaps be the case that you’re not actually working right now, which of course would mean that - despite all your talk to the contrary - you’re out here talking to me because you _want_ to be , and not because you _have_ to be ?”  
  
Just then, Padmé appeared in the restaurant doorway. She scanned the tables and spotted him, and called to him in an unimpressed voice. "There you are! What are you doing out here? I have errands for you to run!”  
  
_Padme, you are an angel sent directly from heaven_ , he thought to himself, leaping away from Ben’s vicinity in an almost comical fashion. "Sorry Padmé! I'm coming!"  
  
"My fault," Ben called to her pleasantly. "I must be a bad influence!"  
  
"Kindly refrain from distracting my wait staff, Mr Kenobi! As I recall, it's not the first time I've asked?" Padmé responded, a knowing expression falling across her face.  
  
Ben made an 'oops' type expression and shrugged jovially. "Well, if you stopped hiring all the attractive ones, we wouldn't have this problem, would we?"  
  
She rolled her eyes with good humour, and retreated back inside. Anakin, flustered, made to follow after her.  
  
"If you decide you need to do some more research on what you like, you know where to find me!" Ben called after him. Anakin made a sarcastic face over his shoulder as he disappeared into the restaurant.

Inside, Padmé turned to him with a knowing look. “So, did you have a nice time flirting with Ben?”

“What?! I was _not_ flirting! Ugh, no way - he’s so arrogant!” Anakin protested, his eyes wide with indignance. “There’s literally _no way_ I would ever be interested in him.”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

“Don’t you quote Shakespeare at me! Anyway, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Anakin raised his chin haughtily.

“Well, you know what they say about denial… but sure, Ani.” She gave him an exaggerated wink, and then her expression became more matter-of-fact. “Anyway, your love life is not my priority right now, I’m afraid. I have errands for you to run! I need you to go send a bunch of things for me at the post office down by the Métro station, then go and pick up some more notepads for the wait staff because I’ve been too busy to order any, here’s the address,” she thrust a post-it note in his direction, “Then I need you to go and pick up my order from the _fromagerie_ on Rue Caulaincourt because I still _refuse_ to pay to have it delivered when they are so close by, and _then_ I need you back here by three o’clock to help unload the drinks delivery, and after that…”

_For the woman who was so reluctant to let me help out yesterday, she sure changed her tune,_ Anakin thought begrudgingly.

 

\---

 

By all counts, Ben was feeling _extremely_ pleased with himself. He had taken himself to breakfast at Padmé’s that morning before he sat down to write, intending to give her the tickets to his upcoming book signing that she had requested be set aside for her a few weeks ago. After he had delivered them, and ordered a coffee for good measure, he had unexpectedly run into the attractive American waiter he’d flirted with the night before - who, Ben was now totally convinced, was definitely interested in him. If his time as a journalist had taught him anything, it was that body language spoke volumes: despite the other man’s cutting remarks, his willingness to stay and banter with Ben indicated that he was not being entirely truthful about his feelings.

_Maybe I was too hasty with my decision to spend July focusing on my novel…,_ he mused, having taken a break from his desk to make an afternoon snack. _I think I’d much rather focus on him._

Over the next few days, Ben made a point to have breakfast at Padmé’s daily. Normally, he only ate there once or twice a week - it was his favourite place to eat, but he wasn’t made of money. However, between enjoying the good weather and the new waiter, he wasn’t complaining.

He had also taken the presumptuous measure of arranging an extra ticket to his book signing, delivering it to Padmé ‘in case she wanted to bring her cousin too’ (he had discovered that the handsome new member of staff was actually her relative by ‘casually’ bringing him up in conversation with Sabé). Padmé, who had _clearly_ known what he was up to, had nonetheless accepted the extra ticket gracefully and said she would be sure to bring him along. Slightly infuriatingly, he still hadn’t been able to discover the brunette’s name - the man himself remained tight-lipped, and asking either of the two women directly was a little _too_ unsubtle, even for him.

He was vaguely aware that his interest in the man was a little keener than he generally experienced with people he was attracted to, but decided just to put it down to his need for distraction from the upcoming anniversary along with the heat. Ben found there was something intoxicating about summer in Paris - it always seemed to make him want to find the nearest pretty young thing and throw himself into bed with them for days, with no urge to come up for air.

One morning the following week, Ben awoke to find he had slept later than usual. His head was throbbing aggressively, presumably due to the bottle and a half of red wine he had consumed alone the previous evening after some well-meaning idiot had tagged him in a truly ancient photo from Ben’s university days, on a social media app he kept forgetting to delete.

_OMG blast from the past! Just found these at the back of a cupboard and couldn’t resist scanning them! After summer exams, 2001 I think?!,_ the bleating caption had read.

Beaming out at him from his phone screen, seeing her face had stunned him with the force of a suckerpunch. Looking like the ruler of the free world even at 20, drunk and nearly falling on top of Ben and yet still _impossibly_ elegant in some absurd nightclub in Oxford that had probably been shut down years ago, there she had been. He dimly recalled wondering just how long it had been since he had allowed himself to see a photograph of her. To add insult to injury, he had made the mistake of briefly reading the comments as everyone else who had been tagged piled in.

_ > can’t believe how young we all look in these! babies! ta for making me feel elderly lol _

_ > Amazing memories! Satine looked so beautiful here, RIPxx _

_ > OMG, this was actually another life! _

_ > Awww Satine would have loved these - miss her so much xxxxx _

Taking extreme effort to avoid hurling his phone out of his open living room window, Ben had instead decisively turned it off and reached for the nearest bottle of alcohol.

In the (admittedly not cold) light of day, he scrubbed his hands over his face in front of his bathroom mirror and cringed slightly at the bleary redness of his eyes. He vaguely remembered himself crying. Sunglasses would definitely be necessary. Wandering into the living room after taking a quick shower and pulling on some clothes, he went to reach for his phone and then recoiled, suddenly afraid that just turning it back on would somehow bring up the photo on his screen again.

“Oh for god’s sake, Ben. Don’t be so bloody ridiculous,” he snapped at himself. Snatching up his phone, he pressed the power button firmly and then slid it and his wallet, which he had retrieved from the coffee table, into the back pockets of his jeans. He had plans for today - namely attending a reading of a new book about Marie Antoinette that he had been looking forward to for weeks. But first, he needed a distraction from last night’s lingering shadows - and luckily, he knew just where to find one.

 

\--

 

Anakin Skywalker was currently in the process of mentally kicking himself. He was doing so because, not 10 seconds earlier, his brain had had the audacity to feel _disappointed_ when he had walked outside Padmé’s restaurant that morning to find that a certain redhead’s usual table lacked a certain redhead.

_No, I was_ not _disappointed,_ he told himself stubbornly, collecting dirty crockery from the surrounding tables and stacking them aggressively on his tray. _I was just… expecting him, that’s all. He’s been here every morning for the last 6 days, so that’s what it was. I just got used to the routine._ He wasn’t doing a very good job of convincing himself. He knew that a secret part of him had been starting to enjoy the regular verbal sparring he had encountered each morning - it was impossible to imagine the same scenario ever happening back in LA, and he relished the experience of not being treated like some kind of mythical creature by a stranger. Even if his enjoyment was frequently coupled with annoyance at never seeming to be able to gain the upper hand in their arguments.

To be fair, his disappointment could have also had something to do with the fact that this was probably his last day covering as a waiter for Padmé. She had finally found two new staff through an agency a few days previously, and provided their trial shifts went well later today, Anakin’s help would no longer be needed. Although he was looking forward to having more free time to finally explore the city beyond Montmartre, he had to admit he was going to miss the simplicity the last week had brought to his life. He felt good in Paris, freer, away from the anathema of LA and tasked with a straightforward job that involved no bullshit - well, aside from the occasional stroppy tourist and tightwad tipper.

He paused by the last row of outdoor tables, breathing the morning in, and wondered what he should do first.

“Looking for someone?” A voice murmured, very close to his left ear.

Anakin jumped and nearly dropped the tray he was holding.

“Shit--” he exclaimed, managing to rebalance them at the last minute. He spun around to find Ben standing before him, grinning like the Cheshire Cat from behind his sunglasses.

“Sorry I’m late for our breakfast rendezvous, I overslept,” he said playfully.

“This isn’t -- I wasn’t --” Anakin protested as the redhead looked increasingly pleased with himself. He gave up with a groan. “Are you _always_ this self-satisfied?” he snapped.

“That can be fun, but I generally prefer the mutual kind,” Ben fired back, which achieved the effect of making Anakin nervous-laugh and turn red at the same time.

_Oh my god, what is wrong with me,_ Anakin thought wildly as he watched the redhead elegantly seat himself at his usual table. “You’re unbearable,” he said matter-of-factly, attempting to recover.

“Yet _you’re_ still here. How are you this lovely morning, Mr Kent?”

Anakin was nonplussed. “What?” he said blankly.

“As in Clark? Since you refuse to share your name with me, it’s what I’ve decided to call you. American, and tall-dark-and-handsome? It suits you. Plus, you aren’t fooling anyone with those glasses, you know. One look at you in the daylight and I could tell they weren’t real.”

A convincing denial was unfortunately not forthcoming to Anakin’s mind, so instead, he spluttered.

Ben laughed - that annoyingly pleasing laugh - again. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you why. That’s your business. Anyway, unless you intend to stand here talking to me all morning - which, believe me, I’d have no complaints about - any chance of getting a black coffee, Last Son of Krypton?”

Flustered and slightly panicked that Ben had seen through part of his disguise - _is it blindingly obvious they’re fake, or is it just because he’s been checking me out incessantly that he realised?!_ \- once he retreated back inside the restaurant, Anakin slipped a 20-euro note to one of the waitresses to take over serving his table. She shrugged and accepted it, giving Anakin a nudge with one elbow and a pointed look, while saying something in French he couldn’t understand.

Anakin should have known Ben wasn’t going to let him off that lightly. He found himself unsurprised when, after Ben had left and he had finally ventured back outside to clear his table, he discovered the other man had left his phone behind, half-covered by a napkin. _This has to be on purpose,_ he thought. _This is all part of some grand scheme he’s come up with, where I find his phone and he ends up owing me a favour in return, therefore having an excuse to see me again._

Later that evening he was mildly enraged at himself for feeling the spark of a thrill when he finally felt the phone buzz in his back pocket. He was currently having dinner at a charming café, where Dormé had taken him for the evening while Padmé was busy overseeing the two new wait staff back at the restaurant.

“Sorry, Dormé, I just need to take this,” he apologised, but she waved her hand jovially and beckoned over the waiter to order more wine. He stood from their outdoor table to walk slightly down the street.

Tapping the answer button, the voice on the other end spoke a rapid-fire sentence in French before he could open his mouth.

Even though he didn’t understand what he’d said, Anakin recognised Ben’s voice. He rolled his eyes. “You know it’s me.”

“...sorry, who’s this?”

“Ok, _sure,_ let’s pretend you didn’t leave your phone behind on purpose _knowing_ that I would probably be the one to find it.”

Annoyingly, when Ben’s reply came, his confusion sounded convincing. “...no, honestly, I really don’t know who I’m talking to. Are you from Shakespeare and Company? Did I leave it at the reading there today?”

Anakin hesitated. “...you seriously don’t know who this is?”

“Seriously!” Ben protested. “I can’t remember where I left it. Should I know you?!”

Anakin laughed, despite himself. “It’s… I’m the waiter, from earlier. You know... Clark Kent?”

He heard a quiet chuckle on the other end of the phone. “Oh… I _see._ Well, this just got vastly more interesting. Do I get to know your real name now?”

“Nope.”

“ _Tease._ Well, let me at least thank you for saving it. My life would fall apart without that damned thing. Wait…”

Anakin raised an eyebrow as he heard Ben laugh again.

“I have a question, Boy Scout,” the redhead practically drawled. “If you thought I’d left my phone behind on purpose for you to find it, then I’m curious as to why you didn’t just leave it with Padmé? You know we’re friends. Pray tell why _you_ are the one answering my call on this fine summer's evening, and not her?”

Anakin didn’t have an answer. _Why didn’t I do that?_ After a painful silence that was probably only a few seconds, but felt to him like an entire lifetime as his face fully turned red, Ben put him out of his misery with a gleeful cackle.

“ _Far_ too easy! Oh, I can hear you squirming from here. I knew you were overcompensating with all your sarcastic remarks. So, now the truth is out, can I finally take you to dinner?”

He slumped his shoulders. _Shit, he got me there._ Still, Anakin was stubborn if nothing else. He did not intend to give in so easily. “And just why would I want to do that?”

“You wound me! Come on, you’re in dire need of a Parisian tour guide.”

“How do you know I don’t already know my way around?”

“Because it’s blindingly obvious. No offence,” came Ben’s reply. Anakin could _hear_ his smile.

Shaking his head in amused disbelief, he tried to ignore the smile that was threatening to form on his own lips. “...not a lot gets past you, does it?”

“Not if I don’t want it to. Please, let me take you to dinner and show you the sights.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Anakin countered, and then clamped his mouth shut in alarm at his own boldness. _What the hell are you doing? Stop flirting! You! Are! Not! Interested!_

Ben gave another infuriatingly delightful laugh from the other end of the phone. “Now _that_ remains entirely up to you.”

“I am _not_ going to dinner with you,” Anakin said decisively.

“Oh, fine, spoilsport,” Ben replied blithely, surprising him, until he heard what the other had to say next - clearly the _pièce de résistance_ he’d been saving. “I don’t mind. I’ll see you at my book signing tomorrow night anyway - I left your ticket with Padmé earlier in the week. You can return my phone then! Oh, and I know you could just not come and send it with her instead, but I think we both know _that’s_ not going to happen. So, til then - _a_ _dieu, mon cher_!”

**Author's Note:**

> '80s song titles' is the naming system for this one, lads. c:


End file.
